Snow Place Like Home
by Running For Anothers Dream
Summary: Stan sends out a Christmas card every year. It's always the same visage; him, Wendy, and Soos, standing outside of the Mystery Shack. There are never any lights, or wreaths, or decorations. And yet, on the last day of Summer vacation, Mabel and Dipper find boxes of ornaments in Grunkle Stan's attic...and Mabel starts to hatch a plan.


A/N: Tank Twi of TwiLanes for this story! She gave me the lovely prompt! I'm sad to say that the rest probably won't be up until after Christmas! Eeeeh, the only thing you need to know is that the twins are probably a few years older in this.

* * *

"I'm doing it," announces Mabel, loud enough to interrupt the bickering of the other three. They all spin around to stare at her, eyes wide, mouths parted, like they're stuck halfway between awe and surprise.

"Dude," says Wendy, shaking her head. "It's not worth it. Just wait 'till Stan gets back, and he'll go grab them."

Soos bobs his head in agreement and Dipper just stares, says, "it's just for the closet, Mabel. Nothing's going to get killed if we don't go change the light bulb now."

He's right, of course. It's not even an important closet, like the one just outside of the gift shop, where Grunkle Stan shoves all of his spare items. It's just the bathroom closet, which has long since lost any form of organization and moved on to becoming a catch-all of sorts. Mabel's pretty sure that she once saw Soos put dirty laundry in there, and she knows for a fact that Wendy has a stash of headphones on the top shelf.

"We're going home tomorrow, Dipper. We shouldn't leave Grunkle Stan with even more work." Mabel folds her arms over her chest and stares down her twin - urging him to hear the words that she's not saying, begging him to understand what she's not vocalizing.

 _You know that he's upset right now. You know that he hates when we leave. It's not going to be changed any time soon._

And he does, always, always, giving in with a sigh and a droop of his shoulders. Dipper mutters, "fine," before plodding across the room. His shoes scrape the floor with each step and there's a curve to his spine, a bunch to his shoulders, as he reaches up and takes hold of the chain attached to the attic trap.

Mabel thinks, _I can't believe how tall he's gotten,_ and she longs for the days when the only difference between them was their hair, but then dust fills the room as the ladder drops down from the cieling with a bang.

No one but Grunkle Stan goes into the attic. Soos swears that it's haunted. Wendy insists that it's just not a good place to be. Looking at the hardly cared for staircase, Mabel finds herself wondering what all she's going to find upstairs.

"Now or never," she says, taking hold of Dipper's hand and giving it a squeaze. "Let's get this over with, bro bro. One light bulb, coming up!"

She's the first one up the stairs. It's her idea, and so Mabel figures that if someone is going to be eaten by an attic beastie, it's only fair that it's her. But there's no monster or ghoul waiting for her at the top of the stairs. It's just a room piled full of boxes, trunks, and long forgotten armoires. Mabel takes great care in only stepping on the wooden beams, unsure if the rest of the flooring will hold her wait.

"You alive?" Dipper asks, as he scrambles up after her. He doesn't look happy. There's a smear of dirt beneath one eye.

"Totally. Where do you think he's got the light bulbs?"

"Not the armoires," answers Dipper, instantly. He eyes the nearby piece of furniture warily, no doubt remembering the boggart encounter from a few months back. That's something that Mabel would rather not repeat, so she gives a nod of agreement and dives into the nearest stack of boxes. For the amount of lightbulbs that the Mystery Shack burns through, there's an insanely large amount of dust coating absolutely everything. It looks like most of these boxes have gone untouched for years.

Mabel's drawn to them like a moth to the flames. As she explores the forgotten treasures hidden within, which consist mostly of old newspaper clippings and peculiar looking items that may or may not be embued with magic or might possibly just be reject totems from the shop, Dipper makes his way to the obviously more used portion of the attic. It's the only section where the cobwebs aren't large enough to catch and hold a small cat. None of the boxes have labels. The handle of a broom is sticking just far enough out that he trips over it.

Letting out a decidedly unmanly yelp, Dipper falls sideways. He knocks over exactly three boxes and a thirty five gallon black trashbag. Moth eaten stuffed toys scatter across the floor. One of the boxes pops open, spilling out a variety of marbles, plastic wheels, buttons, and light bulbs. "It's...a box of round things? Why does he have this? Hey, Mabel! I found the light bulbs!"

"I found something better," she sings in return. "Look at all this neat stuff, Dippin Dots!"

"Don't call me that," mutters Dipper, half heartedly. He picks up a light bulb and turns around, only to come face to face with a monstrocity of lights, tinsel, and ribbons. It looks as if the Megamart Christmas aisle has thrown up on his twin. She's a mess of tinsel and ribbons; with glitter 'round her neck and a wreath in one hand; she's grinning like she's just won the lottery, like the price tag isn't still on that red ribbon that's half heartedly pinned in her hair, like the box of plastic bulbs at her feet weren't picked up for three dollars or less who knows how many years ago.

And Dipper thinks, suddenly, strangely, he thinks, _I've never seen Grunkle Stan decorate_. The man sends them a card every year. It's always the same picture: Wendy, Stan, Soos, Waddles; snow on the ground; a _closed_ sign in the window of the shack. It's always the same pose: Soos has an arm around Stan's shoulders, and Wendy is leaning against the older man like he's the only thing keeping her standing, and Stan has this crooked sort of half grin on his face.  
The Mystery Shack is behind them, always, undecorated and empty.

Carefully, Dipper picks his way over to Mabel. She says, "I love the smell of tinsel," and then promptly wraps a strand of sparkling plastic around her neck. It's green and silver. Three crates sit half-empty behind her, where she had been rooting. They're all filled with decorations.

"I didn't think Stan owned anything like this," says Dipper, plucking a strand of multi colored lights from the crate.

Without warning, Mabel lunges forward, grabbing hold of Dipper's shoulders. The wreath raps against his side and their faces are close enough to touch, the tip of Mabel's nose bumping into his when she says, "I have got the single most incredibly amazing idea _ever_. You, me, Christmas vacation, and -"

"Hey, kiddo's! If you can't find 'em, just leave it! We still have stuff to do," calls Wendy, from downstairs.

"No," says Dipper, voice a touch shrill. "I've got it!" Softer, he tells Mabel to take off the lights and put everything back, because Summer is about to end, because he still has to tell everyone goodbye.

Mabel does, but her motions are sluggish and her eyes downcast. She packs away the decorations with an air of finality about her, as if it's some sort of sign, as if it's an announcement of things to come. When it's finally all put away, even the tinsel, even the red ribbon, she goes down the stairs without so much as a glance in Dipper's direction.

She's grinning by the time she hits the bottom step, wrapping one arm around Wendy's waist and singing, "we found the light bulb stash!"

Dipper's always been amazed at her ability to do that.

Dipper's always been slightly worried about how easy it is for her to smile like she means it.

* * *

Summer slips away slowly, as it always does. The last day in Gravity Falls seems to both drag out forever and end too soon. Soos goes home first, crying, because he hates goodbyes, and Wendy stays to keep an eye on the Mystery Shack, makes them both promise to write, call, email, and Stan drives them through town in silence. The radio blares mostly static, though bits and pieces of Elvis filter through on occassion.

Mabel turns it up, and down, and up, and down - until Stan grunts and bats her hand away. "Stop that."

"Sorry," she says, fingers taking hold of the sleeves of her sweater instead, rubbing at well worn fabric. It's not the same shooting star knit that she wore on her first trip to Gravity Falls, but it looks pretty close, but it fits pretty well. "I'm going to miss you an awful lot, Grunkle Stan."

He grunts again. Stan doesn't look away from the road, even though he could probably make the drive blindfolded. "Yeah."

"Don't get into too much trouble while we're gone," she warns. "I don't want to come back and find that a horde of living trees has moved into the Mystery Shack!"

Dipper sighs, bumps his twin's shoulder with his own. "That was our fault, Mabe's. Remember?"

"Psht! It's just an example!"

"You should use one that doesn't make us look bad!"

"You hush," says Mabel, and she bumps Dipper back a touch harder than he'd done her. "The point is that I'm going to miss him, and he needs to behave and not do too much while we aren't around, because I want to do it with him when we get back. We can come back, right?"

Stan looks surprised. He looks surprised every summer, whenever Mabel asks this. "Yeah," he says, running one hand over the back of his neck. "Sure. If you two wanna. If you find something better - "

"We won't," chimes Mabel, cheerfully.

"Don't worry too much about it," finishes Stan, with a grunt and a shrug. He turns the radio up. Static floods the car. No one talks for the rest of the trip. No one talks for the first half of the bus ride, either, because Mabel has stolen the window seat and she's sitting with her back to Dipper, face set in a grin that is far too forced.

There's no one else on the bus. Gravity Falls is a small town. The next stop isn't for an hour, and the stop after that is two hours further. The driver is a surly man, with drak hair and drooping eyes, and the radio never plays anything but Latin music.

Eventually, Dipper slumps against his twin, grabs her by the sleever of her sweater and tugs. "Come on, Mabel. What did I do this time? If you're going to be angry, you at least have to let me know why!"

"No I don't," says Mabel, snippily. It's just that she's never been very good at keeping things to herself, and the words are already building at the back of her throat, clawing at her teeth, trying to force their way into existance.

And it's not fair, because she just wants to stew on it longer. She wants Dipper to be as stressed out over this as she is. Mabel closes her eyes, opens them again. Plans on telling Dipper _leave me alone_ or _I don't want to talk about it_ or even just _forget about it, it's not important_ \- because it isn't, really, not in the long run. It's just a thought that's wormed into her mind, a worry, a concern - and she opens her mouth, tells Dipper, "I hate leaving Gravity Falls. I don't like leaving Grunkle Stan alone, and I always miss Wendy and Soos and Candy and Grenda, and I miss you after we leave, too."

"But...I'm going home with you, Mabel." Dipper throws an arm over Mabel's shoulder, tugs her away from the window and up against him. "That doesn't make-"

"It does make sense!" Mabel shrugs out of Dipper's grip. "Everytime we get ready to go home, you get all _weird_. It's like you're trying to not be you after we get home. Last year, you wouldn't even go out to the park with me for that meteor shower."

"It was late," says Dipper, but even _he_ doesn't believe himself.

And Mabel just stares at him, frowns at him, _knows_ him.

They spend the rest of the ride in silence.

* * *

It's almost midnight when the bus pulls into the Shelbrooke station. Dipper and Mabel get their bags and get off. The station is old and seldom used. The bus comes in three times a day but people seldom use it. A rickity old bench has been pushed beneath a flickering street lamp, and the wood is marked with purple glitter sharpie where two young kids drew on it during a too long wait.

"Do you see them?" Dipper asks, and Mabel just rolls her eyes.

She says, "No. Did you really think they'd show up?"

Dipper shrugs. He takes a step, then offers Mabel his hand. "Not really. We okay?"

"No," answers Mabel, but she takes her twin's hand anyway. "I don't know.

Carol Pines managed to remember to leave the front porch light on, which is great. Last year, no one had turned it on and Dipper had tripped climbing the stairs, scraped his palm and his knee, banged up his pride and set off an awful school year. But this year, the dim yellow glow lights up the porch, and Dipper's able to find the key beneath the flower pot with no probelms.

There's a note on the fridge that says _welcome home_ and there's another by the coffee pot that says _have a good day at school tomorrow_ and Mabel flounces up the stairs without looking at either of them. "Goodnight, bro bro."

* * *

Mabel hates her room.

It's large, and white, and clean. She dumps her luggage bags in the middle of the floor, tosses the pillows off her bed, and wonders how much paint she can slap on the walls before her parents come up here. She's guessing that it's probably a lot, and maybe that she can just wait and start tomorrow.

Or, you know, the end of the week.

By breakfast she's talking to Dipper again, and by dinner she's not even mad anymore. It's not his fault, really. Being here is different from being in Gravity Falls; there's not so much freedom, there's not so much love, there's not so much _realness_ , because here, at home, in this house, Mabel just feels small and cramped.

She steals a bottle of gold glitter spray paint and draws hearts all over the walls of her bedroom. Dipper joins her a little bit later, with a reciept for three gallons of paint, a bag of sponges, and two brushes. And then later that same week they stand in the hallway together, hands behind their back, as the timer counts down, down, down, tick, tick, tick - they still have two hours to go but they share a grin with each other and bump shoulders later in the hall.

Things are good.

Then they aren't.

Mabel waits until both of her parents are out for the weekend. She waits until Dipper is asleep. Flashlight in hand, she creeps down the hallway and into her parents bedroom. It only takes her two tries to crack into the computer.

After that, it's easy. Mabel logs into her email and pulls up her contacts.

 _Can't wait to get back there. Are things ready on your end?_

She logs out without waiting for a response and shuts down the computer. Mabel's gotten good at leaving everything the way she found it - but she's still not good at listening for things, because Dipper's standing in the doorway when she turns around, giving her a disapproving frown.

"Mabel?" He raises one eyebrow. "What are you and Wendy planning?"

Mabel giggles. "Weren't you just saying yesterday that you were going to start sleeping more?"

Dipper stares at her, judgingly.

"Psht!" Mabel throws her hands in the air. She kicks out with one foot, spinning the chair. "Don't worry so much, Dipper. I was just - I was thinking that it's really sad Grunkle Stan spends Christmas on his own."

"Wendy and Soos are there."

"Doing their own holiday stuff," says Mabel. She gives the chair one last spin before flinging herself up. The world spins for a moment and she teeters to the left, but Dipper is there, always, even when he's being weird, and helps Mabel get her balance back. "I was just thinking that it would be nice. Spending Christmas with him, I mean. Like, there were all those decorations up in his attic! If we showed up while he was out, then we could have all of the sparkly lights and tinsel up, and surprise him by being there with ham that's not out of a can!"

Mabel's gripping the front of Dipper's night shirt by the time she's done - eyes wide but mouth set in a determined smile. This isn't just a wayward thought passing through.

It's a plan, an action, something that has been gone over again and again.

"Mom and Dad aren't going to let up spend Christmas break over there," says Dipper.

Mabel snorts. She says, "Mom and Dad aren't going to care."

* * *

\

Sometimes, Mabel wonders if there's something wrong with her. She's not like Dipper, who still gets so crushed by their parents blatant lack of interest. It doesn't upset her. It doesn't make her angry. It's just - just a fact, in the say way that Bipper's a fact, in the same way that the journals are fact, in the same way that Gravity Falls, in and of itself, is a fact.

Life is complicated, like a tangled up spool of yarn. And Mabel, she's just learnt to go with the flow of things.

But still, sometimes, like now, she wonders if there's something wrong with her. The Shelbrooke Station gets smaller with every passing moment, until it's nothing but a dark blur in the distance. That, too, vanishes soon enough.

Dipper's sunken low in his seat. The collar of his winter coat is turned up high, both to keep his neck warm and to cover up his scowl. He's wearing dark red mittens; an early Christmas gift from Mabel, and there are three more pairs tucked into a box under the seat.

But where her twin is despairingly still, Mabel is a bundle of energy. She chews through a pack and a half of gum in the first hour alone, bouncing about in her seat, pressing herself close to the window.

 _Home_ , she thinks, _I'm finally going home_.


End file.
